The Secret Tomb
by Vayluh Arwen
Summary: KotOR 2 short series. The Exile's journey through the Shyrack Cave on Korriban, Exile/Companions, struggle with her inner demons and all that stuff. Read and hopefully enjoy - reviews welcome. Rated 'M' to be safe - probably me being paranoid.
1. Chapter 1: Dark Powers

_First chapter of The Secret Tomb - __**'Dark Powers' .** The Exile and her companions, making their way through the darkest caverns Korriban can through at them, come across something they weren't expecting._

_Disclaimer - I don't own KOTOR, or Star Wars_

* * *

**Chapter 1 - Dark Powers**

Shélla ducked the shyrack's bite and then lashed up with her lightsaber, deftly cutting a long, deep gash through the beast's chest. Blood sprayed across the walls and the dismembered body splattered to the floor. Her breaths came in sharp, loud pants, and she pushed her back against the rocky cave wall, doubling over, trying to catch her breath.

"You alright?"

She grimaced and straightened up, "I'll be fine." She caught sight of some of the creature's silver blood spilling over her shoulder, and she quickly wiped it off, distastefully.

Her heart was pounding in her chest, and, automatically, the Exile tried to calm it, tried to allow the Force to soothe her pulse, her breathing. Fear led to anger. Anger to hate.

_And hate to suffering, yeah yeah_. The more cynical part of her mind finished for her, sharply, _You know, you're not really a __**Jedi**__ anymore, who __**cares**__ about all that?_

She ignored it, straightening up fully. Atton was still watching her, concernedly, and she quickly calmed his unease with a small smile, "I'm fine."

"We should keep moving."

She turned her head, seeing Mandalore's back, stiff and cautious, even through his thick silver armour. She nodded, slowly, and started walking again. This place... was _wrong_. _So_ wrong. Everything about it, the smell, the _taste_ of it... There was something in the air that _screamed_. It was _suffering_.

Atton put a gentle hand on her back, urging her forwards, somewhat consciously slipping his own lightsaber back in his holster. She glanced at it. She had followed his fighting in the Shyrack Cave carefully. He was awkward with this new blade; his powers, his handle of the Force, were rusty. But that would change, with time. As he learned to accept this new role.

Mandalore was watching her, carefully, and she frowned, this small expression inviting him to speak. But he shook his head, slowly, "Never mind." He paused, and then shook his head again, turning his back on her, "We _need to keep moving_."

His tone was odd. Strained. He'd never questioned her on military matters before; her fighting in the Mandalorian War had earned his respect and trust in these matters. So he must be able to feel it too. The call of the Dark Side in this place.

She didn't question him - she knew all too well the strong desire to get out of these caverns as soon as possible - instead moving to his side at a quick pace, and then overtaking him. If he minded she didn't notice, or, as a matter of fact, _care_. They were here because of her. She was going to keep them safe.

A Tuk'ata lay in their path. They had come across a datapad earlier, buried deep in the bloody jacket of a very-chewed corpse - a Sith Tuk'ata trainer. The soldier had let a pack of the beasts free in the caverns to destroy the shyrack infestation. He hadn't counted on them trying to rid this world of _another_ infestation.

Shélla's eyes moved over it. The Tuk'ata was wounded, possibly by the shyrack horde she herself had come across, a deep, gaping wound spreading along its torso, precious blood covering the dry, sand-covered floor. Shélla hesitated, and then shook her head, leaning down a little. She put a strong, firm foot on the wretched beast's neck, and then took hold of one of its horns. She yanked her hand back, sharply. The snap echoed through the caves. The others were silent. They knew it wasn't the time.

She paused, looking down at the creature for some time. Then she turned away, and started walking again.

* * *

They came to a bridge. Shélla stopped, immediately, glancing it over. Her head tilted to the left. And then to the right.

Atton stopped beside her, caught what she was looking at, and gave a low whistle, "Sith's blood."

She nodded, slowly. Mandalore, however, as usual, seemed to relish the challenge. He glanced at her, jerking his head to the bridge, "Watch your step." His gravelly, vaguely-computerised voice was deep with a tint of amusement.

She straightened up slightly, unconsciously, and then went ahead of him. Her hesitation before taking the first step lasted for less than a second, and then she continued slowly along the rocky path.

She glanced down, and then instantly wished she hadn't. The breach below them seemed to go on forever, and the crossing was at most a few feet in width. She took a deep, stabilising breath and continued, firmly, her eyes fixed on safety, the end of the path.

"Shélla."

She heard Atton's voice, but didn't acknowledge it.

"_Shélla_. Can you feel..." he trailed off. She bit her lip, safe in the knowledge that neither of her companions could see it. The spacer was stronger in the Force than she had realised.

"Keep going." She said, her voice completely emotionless.

"But -"

"I _said_ keep _going_."

She could feel them too. Even through the mask of Korriban. The dark power of this planet clouded their presence from her, but they were close.

"Shélla."

"Just keep walking, Atton."

She couldn't risk a fight on this bridge. It would be too close. Her eyes were flickering all over the path in front of them, her heart beating hard like a drum in her chest. One hand was clenched into a fist by her side. The other was on her saber.

A flicker passed over her vision. Her eyes latched onto it, cautiously. She counted in silence. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

She lashed out with her mind, the Force flowing through her and out of her, sending a wall of power into the Sith's body, throwing him off of the bridge and down into the darkness.

She let out a low snarl, "_Assassins_! Watch your back!"

The two immediately stopped, turning to face the ones behind them, knowing perfectly well that she could deal with hers on her own.

Two more assassins shimmered into view, abandoning their shields at the knowledge that she had discovered them - stealth field generators did nothing against a _Jedi_, ex or otherwise.

One advanced on her, far too quickly, and she instantly pushed out again, catching him all too easily. The Sith stopped in tracks, choking, battling with his breaths, his head pushed back at an angle as the Force constricted his throat, mercilessly.

Shélla pulled no punches. She tightened her grip, watching emotionlessly as the soldier fought in vain with the hold around his neck, and then threw him off the ground to join his comrade.

The next was on her before she knew it, and she ducked, feeling his Sith war blade skim the air less than a inch above her head. She caught the next blow with her lightsaber, the blade's cortosis weave giving it extra resilience against her weapon. She pushed forwards with her blade, forcing him to stumble back a step, but his resolve was strong. She tried to push into his head, to allow the Force to bond their minds, to allow her to find his weakness and exploit it, or find his _resolution_ and _crush_ it, but he was strong, _very_ strong. He resisted, his Sith training serving him well, and forced her back with a ferocity that almost took her by surprise. Shyracks and Tuk'ata were a different fight to this, and she was going to have to adjust quickly.

Shélla dropped to the floor to avoid another fuming swing, kicking out with her foot, tripping him down with her. She managed to pin him down, both hands grabbing onto his, closing on the double-bladed weapon, forcing him to keep it above his head.

The Sith's furious pants and snarls were easily audible even through his thick, ragged mask. He struggled with her, viciously, attacking her with both his body and the Force, trying to throw her off. Shélla grimaced, feeling the pain of his hits flooding through her, feeling the tug on her mind his power was having. She ignored it, quickly, the implant she had administered shortly before touching down on this God-forsaken rock helping substantially.

She managed to force his hands up, and then back down, smashing them into the floor. An exposed rock slashed across the back on his hands, cutting straight through his gloves, and his violent curses cut through her in his archaic language. She forced his hands back down again, this time holding them, digging them down into the rock, blood spurting over her gloved fingers. He recoiled, flinching, and she managed to wrench his weapon from his grip, yanking herself upright. The Sith sat up, immediately, and, with a strangled snarl, she slashed the blade through his neck.

* * *

The body fell back to the ground like a rock, the head tumbling off the bridge into the chasm below.

Shélla stayed still for a moment, panting. Then she dropped the Sith sword, struggling to her feet. She turned. Atton and the Mandalorian were in similar states of disarray, covered in blood and breathing heavily.

"A stealth generator is a _coward's_ tool!" Mandalore declared, anger and disgust sharp in his voice.

Shélla raised an eyebrow, "That's funny, Mandalore. Because I remember one clan on Dxun being particularly _fond_ on them."

He shook his head, dismissively, "We never attacked you. I ordered them to take you alive. If we were out to _kill_ you we would've done it _honourably_ and face to face."

She shook her head, ignoring this distinction. She hesitated, looking down the path, and then continued along it until her feet hit steady ground once again. Feeling frankly quite relieved, she looked around her, frowning.

"Why are we stopping?" Atton asked, the slight tension in his voice showing one inch of the caution he felt.

She held up a hand, silently, without looking at him. She kept her eyes fixed on a path in front of her. Her heartbeat had hastened, and the slight tick of the Force in her head had accelerated - a warning? She closed her eyes, spreading out her mind. She sensed nothing. Nothing except... except that feeling. Darkness.

"Something is wrong." She said, quietly, keeping her eyes closed. No. Definitely no sentients. No animals. But... somehow... there was _life_.

She opened her eyes, turning to face him, "Do you feel it?"

"Yes." He replied, softly, his voice subdued.

She turned on the other, "What about you?"

If she could see his face, she was certain she would have seen a raised an eyebrow, "Through _the Force_?" he asked, only the slightest hint of mockery in his rough voice.

She shook her head, impatiently, "The Force, _warrior's instinct_, what_ever_ you call it. D'you _feel_ it?"

Mandalore paused, and then looked up the way they were facing. He looked for some time. Then he returned his gaze back to her, "It smells of death, and fear."

Atton nodded ahead of them, uneasily, "We should _definitely... not_ go up that way."

"That's our path."

"How did I know you were going to say that..."

Shélla hesitated. Then she started walking again, slowly, cautiously. It was dark, _very_ dark, and she closed her eyes, allowing the Force to see for her, as Visas had taught her so long ago. She kept moving, until she saw something she hadn't been expecting. She frowned, and opened her eyes.

A door stood in front of them, a large square door, covered with archaic Sith writings. She frowned, and then moved her eyes down. Somehow - though Force knew _how_ - she managed to force all her emotions into a single cocked eyebrow.

The floor was bathed with a dark violet glow, gloomy, grey mist spreading around her ankles. Power jolted up from the floor like some sort of plasma, purple sparks scaling the walls, flickering around the cold stone door. The light shaded her in a murky purple hue.

-Your thoughts are troubled-

Shélla no longer flinched; she was well used to Kreia's powers by now, "Yeah. I bet they are."

-The source of the power I felt coming through the cave is just ahead... through the door-

She looked up at it, far less than enthusiastically, "Yeah, I didn't think you were gunna say it was just for decoration."

-I believe you are strong enough to enter it. But... you will have to face the challenges of this tomb alone-

Atton immediately objected: "Oh no, no way. Like hell you're going in there by yourself."

-You _must_- Kreia interjected, firmly, -Where you travel in this tomb no-one must follow. Are you ready?-

She nodded, slowly, "Yes." Atton opened his mouth to protest again, but she put up a hand, "Stay here. Make sure nothing follows me. _Both_ of you." He just shook his head, and she put a gentle, soothing hand on his shoulder, "Atton. I don't particularly like the idea of going in there alone, but I believe Kreia when she says it is not possible any other way."

He shook his head again, slowly, "Let me come with you, Shélla. Let me help you."

"No."

"Why."

"Because this is something I must do by myself. I can feel it. You can feel it too, can't you." He just looked at her, uneasily. She knew he could. "Good. Now. You'll wait here for me. Yes? You'll be here? You'll be here when I get out?"

There was a touch of desperation to her tone that even _she_ could not suppress.

He nodded, immediately, "Yes. We'll be here. I'll wait for you."

"Thankyou." She turned back to the door, slowly, taking a few reluctant steps into the purple mist, "I will go on alone."

-Then proceed-

She put her hand on the door. It slid open at her touch, as if it had been waiting for her. Inside she could see nothing but darkness. She took a deep, long breath. And then stepped through.

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"Where is she?"

The old woman looked at him, almost curiously, "Why do you ask?"

Bao-Dur shook his head, putting a hand up to his cheek, his temple, gingerly, "I can... _feel_ her. She's calling out to me."

She raised an eyebrow, "Your grasp of the Force is stronger than I anticipated."

"Where _is_ she." He pressed, firmly.

Kreia shook her head, emotionlessly, _coldly_, "She is where she always was, Iridonian. On Korriban. She shall be back soon, I presume."

"Then why is she _calling_ me." He asked, trying very carefully to reign in his frustration, the long-forgotten anger that squirmed within him still. This woman seemed to stir up the darker side of him, and that was not something he was keen to display.

"Subconscious, I don't doubt. The Exile is trying to keep her mind away from her position. Keep her thoughts clear. It is something the _fool_ taught her, no doubt."

"What have you got against Atton?"

She gave a small, cruel laugh, "He is a fool. And, though fools have their uses, he is beyond my interest."

"He has helped us a lot here." Bao mediated, softly, keeping his voice calm, "Perhaps he is not as inept as you think."

The woman looked up at him, her blind, milk-white eyes moving over him like a scourer. He could tell she was trying to sense his thoughts. But she wouldn't find any. The General had told him about Kreia's inability to read his mind, and her mild frustration in not being able to do so. She had told him that after coming to apologise for doing the very thing. Said it must be something about their battles together that made it so easy for _her_.

"Perhaps." She answered, finally, "Perhaps he will prove his worth in the end."

What problem did the woman have with him, he wondered. He was just a spacer, harmless enough, a bit... _eccentric_, but he sure wasn't the _only_ one.

His remote beeped at him, bringing him firmly back to the point. Bao nodded and turned his attention back to Kreia, "Why would the General need to keep her thoughts clear?"

"That I cannot answer you. Perhaps she feels the need to block her thoughts, stop herself from being manipulated."

"Manipulated by _who_."

"Herself." She replied, cryptically. He looked at her for a second, raising an eyebrow, and was just about to speak when she cut over him: "There is no use in such questions, Iridonian. You must let your General face these problems on her own, or she will have learnt _nothing_ from it."

"But is she in any _danger_?" he pressed, shaking his head, "Is she going to get _hurt_?"

She nodded, thoughtfully, "Yes. Yes, she may very _well_ get hurt. But some small sufferings... lessen greater ones."

Bao-Dur shook his head, firmly, "That's ridiculous. I'm going to her."

"If you go to her now you will tear her apart, Iridonian." She replied, sharply, "Or _yourself_. She will not _recognise_ you."

"What are you talking about?"

"I mean what I said: she will not recognise you. And perhaps her anger is being stirred by this test. There is no telling how she would react."

Bao just looked at her. He could sense she was telling the truth. But his heart ached to go to his General, to stand by her side, to _help_ her. He shook his head, slowly, making his decision, backing very slightly out of the woman's quarters, "Fine. But if I hear her call again... I _will_ assist her."

Kreia gave a small nod, "Of course."

He nodded back, slowly, and then turned, heading out the door.

"You are a loyal thing, soldier."

* * *

The words made him stop. He backtracked, ending back at her door again, "What did you say?"

"You know what I said."

"Yes, I do, I just want you to say it to my face." Bao-Dur's voice was perfectly quiet. But it echoed warning, filled with an old anger he hadn't felt for some time.

"Your loyalty is used. Mistreated. Your loyalty makes you easier to manipulate."

"The General did not manipulate me, I fought at Malachor on my own free will."

"And you activated your Shadow Generator at _her_ _command_."

He felt the name cut straight through him, sharper than a blade. He was numb, he couldn't speak, he just... _stared_ at her. It wasn't just the image. It was the words. You activated _your_ Shadow Generator. _Yours_. _His_ Shadow Generator.

Kreia looked at him, thoughtfully, tilting her head to one side, "Don't mistake my intentions. I respect loyalty. And I respect your decision. And the bond that decision created, the bond between you and the Exile."

"You know nothing of Malachor." He managed, finally, his voice a dead hush, "You know _nothing_."

She nodded, "If that is what you believe. However... I only wish you... _think_ this time. Because your loyalty cost you everything once. Would you let it do so again?"

He didn't reply. He _couldn't_ reply.

She nodded, slowly, "That is the answer I expected. Now go. Wait for you General's call. If she still continues to request your aid... then maybe events are not passing as I expected. But that is her decision. Not mine. _Go_."

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	2. Chapter 2: My Game

_Second chapter of The Secret Tomb - __**'My Game'.**__ The Exile comes across an old, familiar face. But, haunted by the whispers of the cave, is this a possible ally or just another vision?_

_KotOR © Lucas Arts_

* * *

**Chapter 2 - My Game**

Shélla stopped, snapping her head around. Her heart thumped. But it was nothing. It was _always_ nothing. It was this _place_. Full of evil. Trying to trick her. But she wouldn't let it. She kept her mind firmly away from this place, leaving her sharp subconscious to mind where she was going but keeping her feelings, her memories, far away from this hell. Her thoughts that had once lingered on Bao-Dur turned to the next mental relief: Atton.

When he first told her of his past... of the things he had done... of the people he had killed, _broken_... she didn't know if she could ever forgive him. Her Jedi Masters had told her that holding a grudge like that, holding anger inside of her, such deep anger, was a path to the Dark Side. That all Jedi must never cast blame, only... only take responsibility.

But the Jedi she had known had never kept to this rule. Not after the Mandalorian Wars. And she wasn't a Jedi anymore. She could feel whatever she liked.

Atton had just rescued her from Goto's yacht, he and Mical, they had rescued her, fought through all the droids, all the traps... to save her. Their relationship had been hazy since the last time they had talked about his past - _Whatever, just leave me alone. I don't know why I'm wasting my time with you __**anyway**_ - but he had seemed to have a renewed sense of being, and the smile he had given her when he saw her on the ship for the first time in what seemed like days was completely genuine. She had returned one just like it.

Then, when he was helping her with the power distribution on the primary command console, he'd looked at her, oddly. She caught it, immediately, and she could remember feeling unease even so early in the conversation. Something had told her that that look meant something bad. And he had told her. He had told her everything.

Lucky Mical had been on point at the doors. Atton never seemed to talk in front of the young historian, seemed to bristle whenever they were around each other. But if he had said what he had in front of the _Disciple_... well... she didn't know _what_ the Jedi's reaction would have been. But now only _she_ knew his true identity. And Kreia.

She hadn't confronted her about it yet. But she had always known the woman had known more about Atton than she did, despite her usual dismissive comments. It was wrong of her to keep this from her. But... she supposed... would she have believed her?

She shook her head, a small frown moving over her face. She didn't like dwelling on that moment. On Atton's past. She moved back, instead, to _him_. His sarcasm, his understatement, his twinkling blue eyes and his broad, lazy smile, a _spacer's_ smile. The way he could make some setbacks into a disaster and others into a joke. The image of him calmed her. She didn't know why, maybe it was just his... consistently inconsistent nature. Or was it _more_ than that. She had come to care for him, true, but... was it just concern? Or _more_. He had been a Sith. A _killer_. And she had forgiven him. Completely.

The idea squirmed uncomfortably in her head. What was she _becoming_?

* * *

Shélla snapped her head up, bringing herself firmly back to the present. She could hear something. _Speaking_. She turned, cautiously. Were these the dead whispers of the cave? The ones she had been fighting back? No. They sounded... _realer_. And more than that. They sounded... _familiar_. But she couldn't place it. Couldn't place the voice.

It was coming from a door in front of her. She reached out a hand, letting it brush the air less an inch away from it.

"Do not... we must... together..."

She licked her lips. Then, hesitantly, she pressed her hand against the door.

It shot open, leaving her with a view of five backs, facing away from her. And in front...

"Malak." She said, quietly, her heart starting to pump hard within her chest. He was standing less than ten feet from her, his eyes not _fixed_ on her but undoubtedly aware of her presence. Shélla looked at him, her heart pounding. But this... this wasn't Malak. This wasn't the Dark Lord of the Sith. This... this was _Alek_ - _**Squint**_. His eyes were a light, watery blue, his jaw was whole and unbroken, and his skin did not display the usual ashen nature it had during his touch with the Dark Side. This was Malak... before he was Malak. Malak before the Mandalorian Wars, before the Jedi _Civil_ Wars, before _all_ of it.

As she stared at him, he looked around at the others, gesturing to them, his voice soft and sincere, "Do not heed the words of the Jedi Council. The republic will fall if we do not act now. Already the Mandalorians have taken three systems along the Rim. They will only grow more powerful with time."

Oh no. Oh... _no_. Shélla shook her head, slowly, backing away. She felt hard stone hit her back and glanced over her shoulder, quickly. The door had shut behind her. There was no retreat.

Alek looked round, his expression animated, his passion for his cause obvious, "Come stand with me. We will use out might to help the republic in its time of need. Join Revan and I. Together, we will battle this menace."

"This is... this is when you recruited me for the Mandalorian War." Shélla whispered, shaking her head, slowly, "This... this is impossible."

She hesitated, and then took a few steps forwards. She stood in the place she had stood, all those years ago, beside... She glanced around her. Her comrades. That was Nisotsa on her left, that young Jedi, the one that perished so early in the wars. And to her right, Xaset Terep. He had fought bravely, _incredibly_ so, had been awarded many honours for his courage. Posthumously. He had fallen on Malachor. She had caused his death.

Another, Cariaga Sin had perished at Althir. The last, who she only knew as Talvon, breathed his last on that one small forest moon orbiting Onderon. None of these Jedi had survived. But here... they didn't know it. Not yet.

And the last Jedi... that was _Bastila_. _Bastila Shan_. What... what was _she_ doing here? _She_ wasn't supposed to be here!

"Shélla Roke."

She started, glancing up.

Malak's eyes were locked onto her, and their absolute conviction filled her just as it had done before. "Shélla Roke," he said again, his eyes moving over her, "It is you, isn't it? I have heard of you. Your Masters speak well of you - of your skills in _battle_, especially. Join us."

She looked at him, cautiously, thoughtfully, trying to remember what she had said, all those years ago, "I joined you... without hesitation. Against the wishes of the council."

"The Jedi Council is wise, but can make mistakes. History has proven this time and time again. The Council seem content to _watch_, to _debate_, while entire _systems_ fall to the Mandalorians. If we don't act now..."

"...there may be no republic army to assist." Shélla mouthed the words along with him, silently, her eyes locked on his.

The Jedi were being recruited, one by one, moving to his side. Cariaga and Talvon had joined him, standing silently and watching her.

Malak nodded, slowly, "I sense you will join us. What are your reasons?"

She looked at him. Her _reasons_? She had many. And yet none.

"I... I couldn't sit by while so many suffered." She said, slowly, "I just... I couldn't do it. I couldn't abandon them."

He nodded again, as if he understood, "A good reason. Delay would have brought ruin, and there was much suffering. You had to act."

Nisotsa went to stand by his side, steadily, silently, her pure blue eyes locked on hers.

"I did."

"It was within our power to end the war."

"I _had_ to."

"And the Council chose to debate behind closed doors while planets _burned_."

There she hesitated. She shook her head, slowly, "We... we never gave them a chance to reveal their plan. We never gave them a _chance_."

"Their vaunted wisdom bred only inaction. And that would've led to destruction far greater than anything born of the Dark Side."

That had occupied _her_ thoughts, too. Would inaction have brought more harm?

But the way he worded it... _Far greater than anything born of the Dark Side..._ Is that what he thought his decision was? Born of the Dark Side?

He seemed to sense her unease at the phrase: "So... if you could do it all again... the real question is... _would_ you?" he gestured with his head over his shoulder, "The Mandalorians await on the edge of space, eager to crush the Republic. You _know_ how this turns out. Would you do anything different? Knowing what it costs you, knowing what it costs the rest?"

Xaset took his place by Malak's side.

Shélla only saw it out the corner of her eye. Her attention was locked on Alek, thinking long and hard about what he had just said. Was there any reason that could explain what she did? _Could_ there be? Was it even _possible_? What she had done was forever in her mind, in her thoughts, her dreams. Could _any_thing explain it? But she had done what she thought was right at the time. That's what she had always prided about herself. She had fought and killed countless thousands to protect countless more. And she had. She _had_ protected them. Hadn't she?

Shélla shook her head, slowly, making up her mind: "I wouldn't do anything differently. My choices have made me the person I am today."

"So knowing all that would transpire, you would still follow Revan and I?" he gave a small smile, "Excellent."

Movement caught her eye, and she turned her head. Bastila was moving, moving forwards, to Terep's side. To _Malak's_ side.

"And now you are all alone. Would you join me now? You didn't follow Revan and I down our path. Join us. Your journey hasn't ended yet."

But she was still looking at Bastila, frowning, "Wait... Bastila didn't join you. She warned us all to obey the Council."

Malak gave a small, twisted smile, a shadow of the Dark Lord he would become, "She didn't join us that day, no, but in time... she came to our way of thinking. And even before then she wavered and wondered what would've happened. The _what-if_." He shook his head and drew in a breath, "It is a familiar path... there are those who wished to follow _you_ to war, yet remained behind. They came to hate you for the choices they wished to make."

"It is not my responsibility what others think of me."

"Of course. But my invitation still stands. Join me. Join _us_."

"I didn't follow you then," she said, quietly, "And I certainly won't now."

He cocked his head slightly to one side, "Are you so certain? Every step along the way we did we thought was right. Perhaps the same path lays before you." She shook her head, slowly, her decision final. He looked at her for a moment, and then shook his head, a strange expression of something close to pity crossing his face, "Fine. The time for words is done. Now it is time you experience the full power of the Dark Side."

_Oh, if I had a credit for every time someone's told me __**that**__..._ she thought, a small flicker of amusement going through her cautious mind.

Then he lit his lightsaber. Amusement left in a shock. Alek... even before _Darth Malak_, he was still a considerable fighter. Then the rest of the sabers came out, blue, green, yellow, violet, and Bastila's trademark double-blade, they were all getting ready to fight.

Shélla back away a little, shaking her head, slowly, "Oh no. You stay the hell away."

Malak moved towards her, his grip firm on his weapon, his eyes on her. She looked at them, quickly, and then held out a hand, closing her eyes, forcing herself to relax. She let the Force flow through her, felt its currents, felt its touch like a soft, gentle heat. One by one she sensed the Jedi falling to a halt. She frowned, pushing a little bit more, a small spark of pain erupting in her temple. The Jedi stopped completely, recoiling, their hands over their heads, their eyes, trying to force her out of their minds. The Exile drew back, leaving a small slice of her in each one of their heads, leaving them to fight against the darkness, against the Force.

She stumbled back a step, the door preventing her from falling. Then she opened her eyes.

Malak raised an eyebrow, completely unaffected, "You call that mind control? _This_ is mind control."

He pushed his hand towards her and her head was immediately smashed back against the rock. She fought him, ferociously, forgetting the Code and allowing all her anger into the act, throwing walls at him, trying to force him out of her head.

But he was strong. _Very_ strong. She gritted her teeth, feeling his presence so easily in her mind, her hand trying to grasp her lightsaber but not quite there, her fingers only brushing the grip. He noticed and pushed again, forcing her head back down and her hands to clasp it, abandoning the weapon, the pain consuming her.

He was moving towards her, head cocked slightly to one side. His bright red blade pierced through her vision.

_No_, she thought, weakly, her struggles fading, _**No**__._

Hit.

She stopped fighting, stopped breathing. What?

Hit.

She lowered her hands from her head, staying slightly bent over. Hit...? Oh. _Oh_. Of _course_.

Immediately, she closed off her mind, forcing it where she wanted it, completely isolating it onto one spot.

_Start game. Hit - plus three. Hit - plus one._

Malak had stopped. He was looking at her, frowning, confused, cautious, and a little alarmed. She forced her thoughts off him, back to the game.

_Hit - plus two. Hit - plus seven. Totals four-eight._

She barely felt the Jedi take a step towards her, "What are you..."

She ignored him completely. _Hit. Hit. Stop. Too close, look at the deck. Be careful._

_Be careful._

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"Rand? What are you -"

Atton shushed him, immediately, holding out a hand. The Mandalorian fell silent, and Atton listened intently to the whispering in his head. He could barely believe what he was hearing. He raised his eyebrows at the next turn, and then a smile slid onto his face, "Nice move."

Mandalore looked at him, "_What_?"

He just shook his head, his smile growing, "Oh, good girl. _Good_ _**girl**_."

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_...totals nine-thirteen. Hit - plus seven. Hit - plus five. Totals sixteen-eighteen. Opponent sticks._

_Hit - plus five. Totals twenty one-eighteen. Bust._

"How... how are you _doing_ that?"

Shélla's subconscious picked up on his agitation. Her conscious completely ignored it.

_Switch the face of the plus four/minus four card and play - t__otals are seventeen-eighteen. Go for broke. Hit._

_Plus two. Totals nineteen-eighteen. End round._

A hand fell on her shoulder.

Shélla glanced up at his face, shooting him a small, savage smile, "My game."

She darted forwards, grabbing his shoulder, and then buried her lightsaber into his stomach.

Malak's breath caught in his throat. His body shook. His eyes, full of shock and pain, moved up to hers. Then he simply faded away.

The Exile stumbled back, back into the door again. She was panting, her breathing rough. She looked up, lighting the other side of her double-bladed saber, eyes fixed on the last remaining Jedi. But they didn't charge. They just looked at her, lit lightsabers by their sides. Then, just like him, they faded away.

Shélla stood still for a moment, watching the space where they had been. Then she relaxed again, letting her head fall back against the stone, closing her eyes and willing her breathing to calm. A test. That was what it had been. It was all just a test.

She let out a low, weary groan. _Force_, were there no _easier_ ways of testing her intent, her resolve? Apparently not.

Shélla straightened herself up, somewhat reluctantly, and pushed her saber back into its holster on her belt. She looked around her. Only one way. Onwards. Shélla tightened her back for a moment, stretching out her muscles, and then shook her head. It was time to move.

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Atton's mind rushed with pride. She had done it. She had _managed_ it! Right from the first time he had taught her that technique she had found it difficult, difficult to throw away a General's caution, a _fighter's_ caution. She just couldn't let go, not in the heat of battle, she couldn't manage to keep her attention away from her enemies. She'd tried - Kreia, Nihilus, even her old friend _Kavar_, but she had not succeeded. She could never shut her mind off. But she had _done_ it! And against Lord Malak _himself_...

Atton had felt her thoughts brushing against his, gently, her mind reaching out. He'd sensed her unease, her fear, and had responded likewise, calming her wild thoughts, soothing her. The Force was not strong in him, he knew, nowhere _near __**her**_ level, but he could manage that small courtesy. He could calm her shot nerves, keep her in a place where she was safe, with _him_. She would be safe with him.

"How's the General doing?"

Atton frowned at him, curiously, "That was almost _concern_, you know."

Mandalore gave a short bark of a laugh, "Perfectly selfish, I assure you." He glanced around him, almost distastefully, "I don't wanna be here for a second longer than I have to."

He paused, and then nodded, slowly. He knew how the Mandalorian felt. "She's passed the first test. With flying colours, it must be said. I don't know _much_... but I can tell she's beaten him."

"Through the _Force_..." he completed, his voice containing a much larger dose of sarcasm now Shélla wasn't here to stop him.

"I didn't believe in it either until I fought Jedi. And then _became_ one."

"You fought Jedi?" the tone was almost impressed, and it sent a sick feeling running through his stomach, "And you _survived_... Maybe I underestimated you..."

"It was a long time ago." He muttered, shaking his head.

"Does not decrease the honour."

Rand gritted his teeth and pushed a finger into his temple. He didn't want the Mandalorian's approval, not for his actions in the war. He didn't want _any_one's approval.

"What were you? I wouldn't have thought Mandalorian."

"I don't wanna talk about it."

"Ah, of _course_. You were _Sith_."

"I _said_ I don't want to _talk_ about it."

"Does she know?"

He paused for a moment, his gaze fixed on the rocky wall. He would not have another blackmailer. No way. "Yes. She does." He paused again, and then shook his head, "I told her just before she taught me the ways of the Jedi."

"She _converted_ you." He shook his head, dismissively, "Then you are as weak as I thought."

"Weak?" he repeated, anger burning inside him at the word, "You know nothing _about_ me."

"I know your _type_, _**Sith**_, very _well_."

"_Don't call me that_." He stopped and forcefully calmed himself, levelling his tone, "That was in the past. No longer." He shook his head, impatiently, "Enough of this. Let's get back to what we were doing."

"And what was that?"

Atton looked up at him, raising an eyebrow, "_Waiting_."

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	3. Chapter 3: Warrior's Instinct

_Third chapter of The Secret Tomb - '__**Warrior's Instinct'**__**.**__ The Exile is introduced to a time she thought was long gone, and her companions concerns increase as she faces a memory she'd definitely rather forget._

_KotOR © Lucas Arts_

* * *

**Chapter 3 -**** Warrior's Instinct**

The shyracks came from nowhere, one darting towards her and throwing her to the floor. Shélla frantically grabbed her lightsaber, pulling it out, careful around the two cyan beams. She scrambled to her feet just as one of the bigger, more powerful shyrack wyms came soaring towards her.

She struck out, killing it, and then spun to the next, cutting it down. More swarmed through, _many_ more, she had walked into a whole horde. She ducked and slashed, fighting ferociously fast, taking one out with an artful swing and then killing another with a Force crush on its throat. But there were so many of them. Shyracks were nothing more than pests, but in a swarm...

She held out a hand, trying to force the creatures back, fill their minds with fear. There was no affect, and, taking a few quick steps back, she immediately changed her approach. She backed further, drawing the beasts further into the corridor, flicking off her lightsaber and pushing it quickly back into its holster.

She closed her eyes, drawing her mind away from the shyracks' screeches, the powerful beating of their wings, and held out her hands again. She felt the Force flow through her, and pushed, pushed hard, drawing in as much as she could. Then she forced it out. Bolts of lightning flew from her hands, streaming out of her body and into theirs, each one caught by a sudden huge pulse of electricity. She kept it strong, fiercely, pushing as hard as she physically could. Then there was no more left, and she fell to her knees, doubled over, panting.

The shyracks were dead, all of them. But it had come at a price. Her energy was gone, completely. Rarely did she use so much of the Force, rarely was she compelled to channel so much of it. She kept her forehead on the cold stone floor, trying to catch her breath. Her breathing eventually stilled, her heart calmed, and she managed to stagger back to her feet. _Force_, she hoped this was the last of it. Was this the last of it?

She looked around her. It appeared she had found the nest. Piles of garbage strewed the floor along with bones, _human_ bones, _sentient_ bones, both ancient corpses and... _fresh_. She took a deep breath and held it, forcefully keeping the nausea at bay. It smelt like a charnel house, death, putrid flesh, animals. By her right foot was a severed arm, what looked like it had once belonged to a Twi'lek. She gagged, pressing a hand over her mouth and kicked the broken flesh away. Then she paused. Imbedded in the hand was a blood-stained datapad, little LED light still flashing. She hesitated, and then crouched down, taking hold of the pad and wrenching it away, ignoring the nauseating cracks given from old, dry bones. She straightened up, blowing dust off the small piece of wiring. Clicking through easily, she scanned to the last entry. Her eyes flickered over it. The arm had belonged to a Jedi, one of a Jedi expedition to explore a hidden tomb, _this_ hidden tomb. Her eyes moved down to the last words. "I hope they can find us a way out of this tomb. These visions threaten to break through all the discipline I've gained in my training."

Shélla looked at the pad for a moment, and then slowly placed it back on the floor. All the discipline he'd gained in his training... Since the moment she had got in here she'd done nothing but _ignore_ her Jedi training. Of course, she'd remembered what she needed, the use of the Force, her lightsaber, other mental techniques, but the emotion side... she'd blocked it out. She'd stopped doing what supposedly made a Jedi a Jedi. Was that the test? Was it a test of how much she _believed_ in it? Was she _failing_?

Electricity was sparking upwards from the floor in front of her like a chemical storm. Shélla stopped, looking at it for a moment. She didn't want to go through it. It... hadn't felt right. Last time. It felt... _wrong_. But it was the only way through.

She grimaced, gritted her teeth, and then very reluctantly passed through the purple mist. She shuddered, feeling cold and dark, and moved out of it as quickly as she could. Another door. She held out her hand automatically this time, only after it had shot open cursing herself for not thinking to try and figure out what was on the other side.

But no shyracks came from the opening, no Jedi, no Sith. She walked through, slowly. And then came across something she hadn't been expecting.

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The Disciple tried to meditate on the ship. It was difficult on this planet, difficult to centre himself. His Jedi powers were well-established by now, not as established as the Exile had told him they _would_ be, but he was a fast learner, and eager. He tried to feel her mind, her touch, like he had the moment he had seen her again after all those years, in the Jedi Academy on Dantooine. He had recognised her the very second he saw her. She had remembered him only after he told her who he was.

But that didn't matter. The Exile had done a lot of forgetting in her travels. It was only human that she tried to leave behind everything she had done, everyone she had lost. It was almost a pity. She had been an amazing teacher. Not that she hadn't been _regaining_ that skill, of course. But... it was going to take a lot to get back to the place she once was. If she even _wanted_ to.

Mical had wanted to come with her to Korriban, to _help_ her. But she had told him she needed him on the ship. She wanted him to keep an eye on the others. Something about... someone she didn't trust.

A shiver went through him and he frowned. What was _that_ about? Ever since... well, ever since _Nar Shaddaa_, he'd been... sort of... _off_. Like there was something in the back of his mind, but he couldn't quite... Mical shook his head, firmly. There was nothing. He'd been over it before, and there was _nothing_.

But he couldn't help it. Sighing, he got up, moving across the corridor to the main hold. Mira was outside the ship checking the area - or, knowing her, _hunting_ the area - and the Exchange droid was shut down for a few hours after an upgrade by Bao-Dur, so the whole room was empty. He tapped a few keys on the computer database, and called up the list of planets again. The list of planets attacked by Revan during the Jedi Civil War. He clicked it into 3D and the planets shone before him. Telos IV, Iridonia, Rodia, the Foerost system... they were all so _calculated_. And then you looked at Malak's reign and it was just... chaos. So what was Revan _doing_?

"There's something there." He murmured, holding his hand out to Iridonia, not quite touching the light, "There _is_ something there."

But he couldn't see it. He gave a low sigh, and then turned, flicking the screen off. He settled down on the floor, closing his eyes and relaxing his hands on his knees. He drew in a deep, slow breath, and then let it out, just as slowly.

Shélla. He reached out for her. But there was no reply. He didn't try again. He didn't want to distract her. He let himself relax. Atton would think that his concern over Shélla was an obsession, some strange, obsessed love. Rand was a strange man. A _wrong_ man.

Mical shook his head. He loved Shélla, yes, but in the way one would love a piece of art, a masterpiece. One would marvel at the perfection, delight in every time they spotted something new, something unseen, but feel no desires to claim it. Shélla was a masterpiece. She had a strength that rivalled her beauty, and a deeper side to her that was almost entrancing. But he didn't want her as his. That would stop _others_ from admiring the masterpiece too. He would protect her until the very end. Because she was a masterpiece. _Nothing_ would hurt her, spoil her. She would always just be... _her_.

"You're thinking of her too."

* * *

He glanced up, catching the Iridonian's eyes, "Yes."

Bao shook his head, slowly. He hesitated, and then came and sat down on the floor, next to him. He didn't take a meditation stance - he never _did_ - instead leaning back against the ship wall, bending one knee, leaning his arm over it.

Mical looked at him, curiously, "What's wrong?"

"You... knew Shélla. _Before_ she went to war."

"Well, I can hardly say I _knew_ her. We met a few times in the Academy. She was my teacher."

"What did she teach you?"

He smiled slightly, remembering her lessons very well, "The Force."

"For battle?"

"No, not battle. _Art_." Bao frowned, and he shook his head, "She taught us to hear the music in a lightsaber. To see the beauty in another's eyes, through the Force. To grow bonds, to grow connections, _that_ was what she was good at. It wasn't _killing_ she taught us. Just... _beauty_."

He nodded, slowly, "I think I can understand that." But he paused again, just looking at him.

The Disciple frowned slightly, "Why are you here, Bao?"

"I wanted... I wanted to ask you some questions. About Shélla."

"Of course. What do you want to know?"

He hesitated again. It seemed he was having real trouble asking this. "What... what was she... _like_?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean... before the war. Before battle. What was she like."

Mical frowned, considering his answer, "I guess she was.... different."

"Different?"

"Yes."

"Different... _how_?"

"I... I don't know. There was... something about her. A flair, a _joy_, a... _passion_ for her cause. But the war and the Jedi Council bleached that away." Then he gave a small, soft smile, "But she's regaining it. Have you seen? The glow?"

"Yes. She... she looks to me now like she did... _before_ Malachor. Before Dxun. Before she became a _General_, so many years ago."

"But this place is poison to her." He said, quietly, sadly, "You know it, don't you. That cave... it's _poison_."

"How d'you mean?" he asked, frowning.

"Can't you feel it? Reach out. Take her mind again. Can you feel it?"

"What is it."

"The decisions she made, her past, coming back to haunt her. It's pain, fear, anger, adrenaline. Bloodshed. It's _war_. _Battle_."

"It's Dxun."

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The Republic Captain walked straight over to her, quickly, her pace urgent, "Comm says we've lost _another_ heavy droid transport. How can we break through the Mandalorian lines without support? The path is _mined_ and the place is _crawling_ with enemies. I _know_ we've got our orders to press forward, but we're at quarter strength. We _can't_, General. It's _impossible_. We _need_ to retreat."

Shélla was still staring at her. Then she transferred her gaze to her surroundings. Five Republic soldiers stood behind their Captain, watching them, silently. They were still in the tomb, most _obviously_, but the way the men were positioned, the thin bridge in front of them, she knew exactly where she was supposed to be, "This is Dxun... the heart of the Mandalorian crusade."

The woman seemed to have been listening to something else: "We _know_, General. But we just don't have enough men to accomplish our objective, no _matter_ how important."

She frowned slightly, watching her. Oh. _Now_ she remembered this battle. Of course. This... this was one of the pinnacles of tragedy that was Dxun. She had her orders. Her orders were to take her platoon and charge the line. Her soldiers had been loyal. _Too_ loyal. The losses were... _terrible_.

"We've already lost half the men just _getting_ to the path. They've got the rest of the company pinned down but the crash site. You can't _possibly_ ask the troops to go forward." She hesitated, and then shook her head, a desperation and fear to the expression that Shélla instantly placed with Dxun, "If... if you ask us to charge, will it make a difference? Will our sacrifice _mean_ something?"

The General paused, and then shook her head, slowly, "Only _Revan_ could answer that. Even afterwards no-one could piece together exactly what happened. We '_won'_, though."

But her mind taunted her: _**No**__. You __**know**__ the truth. Taking the path was just one of a hundred feints. It was unnecessary for victory. All these soldiers died for __**nothing**__._

The Captain drew in a long, shaky breath, biting her lip slightly, "We... we will press forward if you ask it. The path is mined. If you ask us to charge... there will be losses, General."

She turned back to her soldiers.

"Wait!" she turned back, frowning, and Shélla shook her head, taking the desperation out of her voice, "Wait. Let _me_ go this time. I'll try and disable the mines.

The relief on her face cut through her heart, "Thankyou, General. Thankyou."

She hesitated, and then nodded, slowly. She moved forwards, towards the bridge. She tilted her head, looking at the small mounds in the floor that marked the mines. She had work to do.

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"You think you can help her with your presence?"

Mical and Bao-Dur turned back from the gangway. The Disciple shook his head, "This is our decision. Not yours, Kreia."

Kreia nodded, thoughtfully, "_Indeed_. But do you really think that it is the _right_ one?" she turned her blind eyes to the mechanic, her voice almost curious: "Has your General been calling you again, Iridonian?"

Bao shook his head, slowly, "No."

"Then her concentration is back where it _needs_ to be. Surely you do not want to _distract_ that?"

"Kreia." He began, his voice forcefully quiet, carrying its soft warning, "I can feel Dxun. I can feel Malachor."

"Yes, and I assume so can _she_. This is just a test, alien. She has to pass it on her _own_."

"A _test_? What sort of test would force her back to _Dxun_ again?"

"A very difficult test." She replied, smoothly, "But one she needs to come to terms with, I think."

He shook his head, slowly, "I'm going to her."

She inclined her head, "If you wish. I will not stop you. However... I _do_ ask of you... be careful of how you approach her."

"Why." Mical asked, quietly.

She gave a small, crooked smile, "Had it never occurred to you that she might not _want_ your help?"

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The mines were easy, simple frags. All she had to do was cut a few wires. The _right_ wires. Shélla forced her hands not to shake, and moved forwards on her knees, deactivating the traps she found. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Six mines. It had seemed like so many more at Dxun. Constant explosions, huge booms crashing through the air followed by horrific screams or just sick, wet thuds. The constant cry for medics had been unbroken.

Cold sweat dripped down her forehead. The mines were easy. The memories that came with them _weren't_.

She deactivated the last mine, and stood, her breath now fully out of her control. She paused for a moment, and then turned to the soldiers, managing a weak smile, gesturing to them, "Path cleared."

The Captain came towards her, startlingly quick, "And now we fight!"

The Mandalorians appeared in front of her before she had time to draw her weapon. A blade sliced along her arm, making her curse and stumble back, white-hot pain spreading along the wound. She bottled it up, quickly, and then drew her lightsaber and cut through the offending Mandalorian, and, not giving the corpse time to fall to the floor, instantly turned to the next.

The soldiers were very efficient. The battle didn't go down as she remembered it, with broken, scared Republic soldiers and battle-ready Mandalorians. The battle went... _well_. The last of the enemy was struck down by a green recruit, and then they all stood perfectly still. She had just opened her mouth to question this when they simply faded away, _all_ of them.

Shélla stayed still for a moment, looking around her, "I assume that means I've passed?" she asked the empty halls. Her own voice echoed back to her. She gave a low sigh. What she wouldn't give now for a conversation, for one of her friends, her companions, to be here. She wasn't the sort of woman who needed someone to validate her actions. But she could have used a friendly ear.

She pushed her lightsaber back into her holster, taking her time about the action. Then she straightened up, and kept walking.

* * *


	4. Chapter 4: Hate Leads to Suffering

_Fourth chapter of The Secret Tomb - __**'Hate Leads to Suffering'.**__ Another test, another trial. If Shélla thought she'd gone through the worst of it she was wrong. Her nightmare is only just beginning._

_KotOR © Lucas Arts_

* * *

**Chapter 4 -**** Hate Leads to Suffering**

Shélla turned the corridor. The place was starting to get to her, starting to press in. She'd never been claustrophobic, but a few hours in this tomb had made her want nothing but a large empty field and the taste of fresh air. She picked up her pace, not caring if it let her guard down just that little bit; she just wanted to get out of here. She had to pick the lock on the next door, and, seeing as it was oddly locked from the other side, it took her a bit of time. The door swished open.

She looked around her. The room in front of her was large, empty except this strange sort of _platform_, this... _podium_ in the middle of the room. She approached it, hesitantly. There was a corpse on the platform. Fresh, fresher than the bodies in the shyrack den. She knelt down beside him, looking him over. He was a Jedi, a Jedi _Knight_, by the robes. His single bladed lightsaber was in his hand, broken and dead.

Shélla hesitated, and then rolled the man over. She was vaguely looking for the cause of death, and she found one. There was a gaping hole below his left shoulder, above his heart, covered with burns. _Lightsaber_ burns. But... but he had been locked in this room. From the _inside_. _He_ had locked himself in this room. And then...

She closed her eyes for a second, not wanting to think about it. Then she opened her eyes again. A datapad was on the floor beside him. She reached out, hesitantly, and picked it up. The LED light had long since stopped, so she opened the back and popped out the datachip, inserting it into a pad of her own. The chip flashed, paused, and then flickered to life. The pad had belong to a Jedi called Nebelish, and had only one entry: 'The visions. The visions! They thought to trick me by taking the form of my fellow Jedi, but my discipline is so strong - I tricked them back. One fell to the shyracks, and the others fell to my lightsaber.'

Shélla looked at the man for a second, deep, dark sympathy and fear taking her in equal measures. She took out the chip and left it on the platform. She had no desire to take that with her. She got to her feet, slowly, and then folded Nebelish's hands neatly over his chest, over his lightsaber. She paused, watching him for a moment, and then turned, leaving the room. She couldn't stop shaking.

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"Bao. Disciple. What... what are you doing here?"

Bao-Dur shook his head, "Couldn't you feel it?"

Atton hesitated, and then nodded, slowly, "Yeah. Yeah, I could. It's the Mandalorian Wars, isn't it."

"Yeah. Dxun."

"But she passed. You _felt_ it, _didn't_ you, she _passed_."

"I don't want her to _have_ to pass." The Iridonian replied, firmly, "But if she _does_ I want to _be_ there. I want to _be_ there for her."

"You can't." he said, quietly, "It won't let you through. I've already tried."

"What do you mean?" The Disciple asked, frowning slightly.

"The door won't open. It's locked tight. Completely sealed."

Bao-Dur shook his head and moved forwards, shooting a look of distaste at the purple mist and heading straight for the door. He looked it over, his eyes moving over every inch of it. He shook his head again, slowly, "This is a reinforced security door, Sith design. Ancient. This... this isn't going to open easily. It can't be hacked because it's too old for a hack. It can't be picked because it doesn't need a key." He reached out his hand and brushed it across the stone. He flinched back, immediately, rubbing his fingers on his palm, "Cold. This... _this_ is a design..."

"Can you get it open?" Mical asked, almost urgently.

He shook his head, slowly, "No. It's impossible. Not even the cannons on the _Hawk_ could get _this_ open."

"Not that you would try if it _would_." Mandalore added, shaking his head.

The Iridonian shot him a look, "Don't tempt me." He moved his eyes back to the door, then moved back few steps, "No. This isn't going to open until it _chooses_ to open. And I'm guessing that's when Shélla's passed the tests."

"And if she _doesn't_?"

"These aren't the sort of tests that you can _fail_." Atton noted, grimly.

"But if she does?" the Mandalorian pressed, moving his attention to each of them in turn.

There was a long pause. "Then the door should open." Bao replied, quietly. He drew in a deep, slow breath, "And we will go and find her. Bring her back. We're not going to leave her in there."

"How noble." He droned, emotionlessly, "Though, of course, you may not get out alive."

"That is a risk I'm willing to take." His voice was sharp, perhaps _too_ sharp. He didn't want to start a fight, not here. The warrior looked at him for a second, and Bao flashed him a somewhat barbaric grin, "What, are you afraid?"

He laughed, shaking his head. Then he looked at him, "Afraid? No. But I'm not suicidal."

Atton shook his head, casually, "You're a big boy, Mandalore, you can look after yourself, _surely_."

He transferred his gaze, looking at the spacer for a moment. Then he shook his head again, "I'll wait here for her. For your _General_. But I don't have any illusions of grandeur. I see things as they are." He nodded at the door, grimly, "If _she_ can't handle what's in there... _none_ of us can."

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Another locked door. This time, though she would usually have taken the few seconds needed to pick it, Shélla forwent this practise and dug her lightsaber deep into the lock. She rotated it, and then the lock finally gave, and she forced the door open. More mist, more purple sparks. She was beginning to realise what they were now: they were the Dark Side. They were pure emotions, anger, fury, hate, there to tempt you, there to _test_ you. And if you walked through them unready they would consume you.

She paused, gathering her strength, and then walked through. She felt the touch on her mind, first deliciously subtle, filling her head with gentle whispers, quiet urgings. Then, as she neared the end, the mist struck out, using brute force, attacking her mind with pictures, thoughts, emotions, throwing at her the most disturbing images she had ever seen, blood, hacked carcasses, dark shadows, her memories, Malachor, Dxun, the corpses of her dead comrades.

Within a few seconds it had moved on to deeper, darker memories, emotions she never even knew she had, images of Atton, Atton with others, doing one hell of a lot more than talking, Atton - amazingly - with _Mira_, kissing her, a deep, urgent kiss, forcing her jacket off her shoulders and pushing her back into the wall. Her mind kept taunting her, toying with her, twisted images flashing through her eyes, her thoughts, _begging_ her to react to them.

Her only reaction was slight, a change of grip on her lightsaber, the slightest increase of pressure on the hilt. She managed to get through, and the images vanished into darkness. She let out a long, relieved breath. She continued down the path. She could see a shadow, a silhouette, a person, shorter than her, with their back turned.

Right. She prepared herself, firmly reminding herself of her feelings, trying to think ahead, to guess what the cave had in store for her next. She padded into the room, silently, and stood still, watching the turned back. There was a few seconds of silence, and then the figure turned.

* * *

Despite her preparations, Shélla gasped, "_Kreia_!"

The old woman gave a slow, thoughtful nod, "You are to be commended for making it this far."

She paused for a moment, still reeling, and then relief flooded her. She took a few steps forwards, allowing a smile to lighten her features, "_Force_, it's good to see a friendly face in here."

But then something made her hesitate. The smile faded. She looked... _different_. She didn't know if it was just the lack of light in here but the woman seemed... paler. Her skin an almost pallid shade of white, and the bands that held back her greying hair darker, almost black. Shélla moved her eyes over her, frowning slightly. She wasn't in her usual robes, either, the shades of brown and green. She was dressed in black, completely in black, and it made her look much darker. Much more daunting. Almost like...

Almost like a Sith.

Shélla shook her head, slowly, "What are you doing here?"

A small crooked smile appeared on her lips for less than a second before disappearing, "You've revisited the dark moments of your _past_... now you must face the _present_."

"_Present_?" she repeated, confused, "I don't... I don't understand."

"Your confusion is natural. Expected. The others and I will help you understand."

"Others?"

The door behind her smashed open and she spun round, adrenaline pumping through her, hand halfway to her lightsaber before her mind kicked in, "Atton!"

He ignored her, instead walking straight up to her with an anger that was so intense she felt she could almost _feel_ it, "Get away from her! She's a Dark Jedi!"

Her eyes widened, expecting anything else, "What, _Kreia_? A _what_? What the... what the hell is going on?"

But Kreia seemed to understand his accusation, at least. She lit her lightsaber, backing away slightly to give herself more ground, "Atton, I've had enough of your snide contempt!"

Shélla spun her head round, looking at the two with absolute bewilderment, "Kreia, what the _hell_?! _Stop_ it! _Both_ of you!"

"Hey, what's the commotion here?"

She spun again at the new, familiar voice, and felt her heart leap, "_Bao_!"

"Stay out of this, Bao-Dur!" Kreia snapped, her voice low with anger, "This is a personal dispute between _Atton_ and _myself_."

But he was having none of it, taking out the Shyarn blade she had entrusted to him, his own eyes lighting with a rage so unfamiliar it was terrifying: "You're threatening Atton with a lightsaber and I'm supposed to just stay out of it? No!"

Shélla looked between them all, completely shocked, taken aback, not understanding what was happening, "Okay, _every_body, put down your weapons, and I mean _now_!"

A droid beeped, and T3 was by Bao-Dur's side, even his mechanical binary sounding distinctly menacing.

Kreia shook her head, slowly, her voice sounding darkly amused: "The three of you would challenge me? You _sorely_ underestimate the power of the Force!"

"I think not." Disciple was there, behind her, standing with his bright yellow lightsaber, eyes narrowed with hate, the expression contrasting massively with his innocent good looks.

Atton lit up his silver double-blade - a saber created as a clone of _hers_, the weapon she had had _before_ she had returned from the Mandalorian Wars - and took a few steps towards her, "Think again Kreia! Your dark influence will end!"

Kreia paused, watching them, cautiously, and then turned to her, "Your 'friends' are all arrayed against me."

Shélla, still rattled with hit after hit on her mind, glanced at her, startled. The woman raised an eyebrow, expectantly, nodding towards them, "Will you stand for this?"

No. No. She backed away a little, shaking her head. No. Surely she wouldn't... Surely she _couldn't_... No. She wouldn't do it. She wouldn't be split between them, she _wouldn't_!

A hand landed on her arm and she twisted away, immediately. Atton gave her a small, soft smile, so familiar it sent a tingle running reflexively through her chest, "You'll stay with me, won't you, sugar? You'll come with _me_, won't you?"

"General." Her head snapped round again. Bao's smile captured her, forced her to acknowledge him, "After all our past? Would you abandon me now? After finding each other again?"

She looked at him, desperately, her breathing completely out of control, shaking her head, trying to make him understand.

"Shélla? Shélla, I joined you from Dantooine because I _needed_ to. I _needed_ to be with you. Please. I'm your Padawan. I _need_ you."

She shook her head at Disciple, stumbling back again, her hand now pressed tightly over her mouth, her breathing easily audible even over her companions' pleads, their words, whispers, echoing through her head.

"Shélla?" Atton was close to her again, his voice cutting through the others. He replaced the hand on her arm, tenderly, and smiled up at her, gently, "I love you. You know that, don't you?"

She looked at him, her breathing stopping for a few seconds, and then it came back, doubled, her breathing more dry sobs. She shook her head, closing her eyes, recoiling away from him slightly, "No. No no no no... Don't... don't say that."

"I _love_ you, sugar. Come on. Come with me."

"No. No, no, I can't. I _can't_, I just... I just..."

She was so close to tears, even closer to just bursting out, screaming, screaming for it to stop, because this was too far, this was too hard, this was breaking her, she couldn't handle this, she couldn't do this, she couldn't -

She stopped still, looking at them. Her eyes flickered over them. Her hand slid from her mouth. She managed to see past the words, past the smiles. Realisation pulsed over her in almost painful waves. Her breaths came out painfully, in sharp gasps, but they were calmer, she was getting in more air. Because... because she knew now. _Force_, how was she so _stupid_?

She raised a hand to them, to all of them, shaking her head, quickly, almost _frantically_, "That's it. Oh. That's _it_. Oh God. Test. This is a _test_. Oh God. Of _course_. Oh God I'm so _stupid_." She gave small, slightly hysterical laugh, shaking her head again, "You're all visions! Just visions!"

She laughed again, a strange, high sound that was closer to a sob, "You're all just visions. It doesn't matter _what_ I do."

"So you will do _nothing_?" Kreia's harsh voice cut through her, sharper than a blade, "_Apathy_ is _death_. _Worse_ than death, because at least a rotting corpse feeds the beasts and insects."

Atton pulled his hand away from her, immediately, his face shutting down and becoming cold, "Apathy is death."

"Apathy is death." Bao echoed, moving slowly to his side.

Mical nodded, darkly, "Apathy is death."

Kreia gave a small, twisted smile, "_Apathy..._ is _death_."

Before she had time to think the woman had pulled out her saber and swung it towards her.

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Atton instantly clasped hold of his head, the pain burning through him, "_Fuck_!"

There was _screaming_, screaming in his head, shrill and piercing, like daggers to his mind, one constant roar of noise. He buckled, feeling his back collide painfully with a rocky wall, falling to his knees, still doubling over, battling with the voices in his head. There were frantic yells, whispers, cries, screams of agony and fear, angry shouts, all echoing through his head, frying his senses, scorching his emotions as his brain forced him to recognise each one.

He pushed back, weakly, trying to fight it, trying to force the voices out, away.

_Switch the... switch the... the face of the, the plus four/minus four card, the totals... the totals... are..._

He couldn't mange it, couldn't differentiate his thoughts from the screaming in his head. His hands were clenched into fists, so tight he could feel his nails cutting deep into his flesh, but the slight pain, it was _nothing_, _nothing_ compared to that scream, that one, mindless scream, and the whispers that were burrowing around within his skull, digging deeper and deeper.

His tortured mind registered something new, the screaming, the whispering, the tortured cries, the screaming - _Oh please, God, make them stop, __**stop**__, __**end**__ this, God, kill me, just __**kill**__ me, just __**end**__ this!_ - but something new, words, repeated words, _screamed_ words - _I can't, I can't do this, I can't __**take**__ it, just end it, __**please**__, I can't __**take**__ it, just __**kill me**__!_ - and it was familiar, _so_ familiar, familiar enough for even his scrambled brain to try a figure out, untangling it from the noise, the piercing noise until he found out what it was - _Bao? Bao, Disciple? __**Mical**__? Mandalore, Can- Cander-... Mira?! Mira! Atton? Atton! __**Atton**__! ATTON!_

He felt like he was going to throw up. _Atton?_ He was choking. _Atton!_ He couldn't breathe. _**Atton**__!_ He was on all fours, gasping and panting, trying to force in even the slightest breath, the slightest hint of oxygen. _ATTON!_

He had just enough consciousness to notice that the others were doing the same, some recoiling back, some with hands pressed over the ears, their eyes, others fallen to their knees, all pained, all choking.

"What's _happening_." He growled, every syllable a fresh source of agony.

"It's the Force!" came a strangled, equally pained reply, "Our Force bonds! It's Shélla! She's calling!"

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Shélla ducked, falling to the floor, allowing a lightsaber to pass over her head, then rolled to the right, avoiding another. She scrabbled for a hold on the rocky wall and dragged herself to her feet, blocking a blow from the Shyran, jerking her head to the side to avoid a blaster bolt. She threw out her hand, feeling the Force flooding through her, and someone was thrown back, thrown to the floor. Another sweep of her arm and T3 had stopped, malfunctioned, stunned. She pushed out, forcing the hilt of her saber into Mical's chest, knocking him back a few steps, and then met Atton's lightsaber with her own.

Pain racked across her as someone got in a hit, a lightsaber cut tearing down her arm. She cried out, pain, fear and anger burning through her in equal measures. She forced out a wave of power, forcing everyone back a few steps, giving her the few seconds she needed to cope with the injury. She could've healed it but she had no time, another lightsaber was crashing down on her within moments and she was forced to block it. Another blade slashed across her again, slicing into her wrist, sending white-hot pain flooding through her, this time surprising her, jostling her grip and sending her lightsaber spinning to the floor.

Her heart missed a beat. It was too far away. She glanced up, in time to see a blue blur speeding towards her face. She forced her eyes closed and, just in time, called the Force to her. The beam struck, but not her. It struck something in front of her, a pure shield of energy, shivering but holding. Shélla opened her eyes. The blade belonged to Mira. She'd only taught her how to use a lightsaber less than an hour before touching down on Korriban. The bounty hunter yanked it back towards her with an almost thoughtful expression. Then she glanced round at the others. They all backed away, silently, leaving space around her.

Shélla hesitated, her breathing rough in her chest, adrenaline pumping through her system. Were they giving up? Had they surrendered? Why weren't they fading? Had she passed?

Questions ran through her head, and she kept her cautious eyes flickering over them. Slowly, she crouched down and retrieved her lightsaber. Something told her this wasn't quite over yet. Something told her they weren't finished. Something told her they were moving onto the next level.

She was right. The rest - Mandalore, Kreia, Visas, T3, HK, GO-TO, Mira, Bao-Dur, Mical - stayed back. Atton took a step forwards.

Shélla shook her head, slowly, desperately, _hopelessly_, "No. Atton. Don't. Please."

He ignored her, his sabre sliding up in his hand, the silvery light sending glints of reflection off his dark, handsome face.

She felt her heart catch, shaking her head again, her breathing ragged, "_Please_, Atton, just, just... _think_. _Please_."

He cocked his head slightly to one side, "Prepare yourself, sugar."

Her lightsaber in her hand drew of its own accord, picking up on the slightest subconscious messages, the fear. She looked down at it and then back up to him, tears now flowing freely down her face. In the presence of some of these people - Mandalore, Kreia and GO-TO, especially - she would normally fight the tears with all her might. But she was weary, weak, and this test was just too hard. She shook her head again, feeling the salty water lick down her neck, "I can't kill you. I _won't_ kill you."

Atton gave a slow, savage smile, "We'll just see about that."

He struck out at her, and she blocked it, quickly, throwing him back a step. He circled her for a second and then hit out again. She forced her saber in between his and her body, feeling the heat as he came very close, "Atton! Stop! Please! I _can't_!"

He gave a low, predatory snarl and span, getting in ferociously fast hits. Shélla swung her weapon so fast it appeared as a pure cyan blur, fighting to keep ahead of him but not on _top_ of him, fighting to overcome him but not over_power_ him. But he was strong, _very_ strong, and she was having no choice but to start to up her game, go as fast as she could, _fully __**fight**_him. He caught her across the shoulder and she let out a low growl, fighting back pain, "Atton, I _will not __**kill**__ you_!"

"Then you will fall." He smashed in another blow, one she only just missed, one she saw cross over her face less than an inch away. She pulled back, and so did he, and he was raising his lightsaber, ready for one final blow, the killing blow, and Shélla closed her eyes, wincing, recoiling, and her hands reflexively shot forwards.

* * *

Everything stopped. Shélla opened her eyes. Atton was looking at her, shocked, surprised, unmoving. She looked at him, her eyes locked onto his. Then he looked down. She followed his gaze. Her hands were still out, clenched around the hilt of her lightsaber. The lightsaber that was now forced through his stomach. His eyes flew back up to hers, and panic flooded her, pure panic, shock, she didn't know what to do. He fell backwards and she immediately went with him, taking hold of him as he lay on the floor, letting her lightsaber drop, abandoning it.

She put her hands on his shoulders, leaning over him, frantically, "Atton? Atton! Atton, _look_ at me! _Atton_!"

He made no move, and his head fell to the side, his eyes closed. Her breathing was so fast, her heartbeat a hum in her chest, "No. _No_! _Atton_! Atton, goddammit, _Atton_!"

No reply. His face was completely colourless, completely empty. Emotionless.

Shélla shook her head. This wasn't happening. This _couldn't_ be happening.

A hand fell on her shoulder, squeezed, gently. There was a voice, a soft, quiet voice, but with something in it, something savage, a hint of cruel satisfaction: "It is done. Come, Exile."

She didn't look at the hand. She got to her feet, slowly. Her lightsaber was back in her hand, though she couldn't remember picking it up. She could feel something building up inside her. Building, building, until it was _screaming_ in her head, a ferocity she'd never felt before, an anger burning so deep she felt scared, _so_ scared, a furious, burning rage, so hot she could feel it on her skin, behind her eyes, throbbing in her palms. She couldn't breathe, the anger had tightened her lungs, stopped all her oxygen, stopped her heart, stopped _everything_. All she could feel was livid, vicious, unstoppable... _hate_.

The hand went back to her shoulder again. And she snapped.

* * *

She spun round, her lightsaber poised before she knew what she was doing, slashed out, cutting down, forcing out her blade. Blood sprayed, covering her face, and only in that second did she realise what she had done. Her heart dropped, stopping, her breathing caught. She shook. Her lightsaber fell to the floor with a loud clatter. She couldn't stop shaking. The bloodstained corpse, covered in a dark, bloodstained cloak, faded into nothing. She snapped her head up. The others had gone too. She snapped her head back down. Atton had gone.

She fell to the ground, to all fours. Her energy had left her. A shrill ringing had erupted in the base of her head, growing louder, and louder, building up to a screech, a noise that enveloped all other noises, stopped all sounds but this, filled all your senses. Shélla managed to straighten up, still on her knees. She looked up, eyes tracing the Sith carvings on the walls, the ancient and fresh bloodstains. Her heart was pounding so fast in her chest she could no longer hear it. She let her head fall back slightly, facing the roof, closing her eyes. And then she screamed.

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Bao-Dur managed to pull himself to his feet. He looked at the people around him, urgently, "Mical? Atton? You alright? Everyone okay?"

Mical gave out a low groan, getting shakily to his feet, "It's over. It's done. It's all over."

"Mandalore?"

The man shook his head, slowly. His back was braced against the walls and hand was to his helmeted head. He didn't speak.

He moved his gaze again, "Atton?"

Atton didn't reply. He was crouched in a ball on the floor, rocking slightly, his hands still over his head, grinding his teeth so hard that blood was beginning to spill from his lip.

Immediately, the Iridonian went down to him, putting an arm over his back, "Atton. Atton, it's okay. It's over."

But the spacer shook his head, pained, forcing out a reply between shallow breaths: "No. No, it's... it's not. It's not. I can... I can..."

"Atton, come on, sit up. It's okay."

"No! No, I can feel her. I can _feel_ her."

The Disciple shot Bao a concerned glance, "What's going on, what's wrong with him."

"I don't know. It's like... the connection hasn't finished for him."

Rand buckled in pain, curling in on himself, trying to block out whatever was attacking his senses, "No! I... I feel... like my _heart_ is _breaking_. I can't... I can't... Just... _God_, stop, stop it. God, _stop_!"

The Disciple was now by his side, abandoning whatever petty dispute the two had, his face pure, innocent concern, "What the hell is happening to him."

"You're the medic."

He shook his head, and then, hesitantly, and then put his hands on Atton's shoulders, "Atton. Listen to me Atton."

The man buckled, fighting with him whilst fighting with himself, writhing, pulling against him. Mical tightened his grip, forcing the man still, "Atton. Let her go. Come on. Let go."

"God, she's so... she's so _angry_..."

Bao felt his heart clench, and saw from the slight twitch through the Disciple's hands that he was thinking the same thing. But Mical shook his head, firmly, "Leave her. Come back to us, Atton. Come on."

Mandalore had managed to drag himself to his feet. He'd come towards them, and was now leaning heavily on the wall, "What's going on."

Bao glanced up at him, hesitated, and then shook his head, slowly, "She's failing."

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Shélla let herself fall to the floor. She let her emotions flow out, let everything come through her, Atton, Kreia, her old Master, Master Vash, dead on the cold stone floor, lying in a pool of blood, just _bait_, Bao-Dur and his dreams, Telos, Dxun. She hadn't struck someone down in anger since Malachor V, and even then it hadn't been this intense, this _forceful_. She could feel the tug of the Dark Side, pulling at her, soothing her, trying to coax her down, gentle whispers filling her head again. Would it be so bad to let go? Force, keep her strong! All she wanted now was for it to end, for all this to stop. To become another addition to this dark place, another nameless, faceless corpse for others like her to pass by, future Jedi, future Sith, food for the Shyracks.

Would it be so bad to stop? To end it all? She should be dead, _force_, she should have _died_, Malachor V should've been her _grave_. It pretty much _was_, there was something dead inside her, spreading, a cold brush going through her body.

_You could end it._

Her hand was on her lightsaber again. She looked at it, almost surprised. Again, she hadn't remembered taking hold of it. The beams slid out, one on either side, the beautiful, cyan beams. How many people had this blade killed? She couldn't know, couldn't even _begin_ to remember. A hundred? More? Probably. And this was a _new_ weapon!

_You __**should**__ end it._

She shook her head, slowly, her hand moving gently over the weapon's hilt. Her fingers reached out to the beam, just brushing close enough to feel the heat. It was beautiful. And terrible. It was a piece of art. And a weapon that had slaughtered _hundreds_.

_End it. Now. You know you need to. You know it needs to be done._

The whispers were coming from all around her, from the walls, the floor, the ceiling. The echoed through her head, gently, the voice familiar but she couldn't place it, like an old friend. Concern and soothing logic pulsed in the tone, making it very very difficult to ignore, because she didn't quite know if she _wanted_ to.

_The Jedi __Nebelish knew this was the right path. He knew it. If he could not follow the Code then he was no Jedi. Do it. Do it now. It'll be easy. __End your suffering. Save yourself._

Shélla licked her lips, unconsciously. Then she shook her head again, "No."

_What?_

"I said no."

_Do it. __**Now**__._

"_No_."

She got to her feet. Her lightsaber quivered for a moment in her hand, then the beams slid back into the base, and she pushed the weapon silently into its holster.

_Do it for the people you've killed, the people you've hurt!_

"They are dead, there is nothing that can be done for them now."

_All the things you've done! The people you've __**butchered**__, the soldiers at Dxun, __**Malachor V!**__ How can you __**live**__ with yourself?_

She shook her head, slowly, "Because I have to."

_Surely this is __**deserving**__, surely this is __**justice**__? That is what your Jedi code wishes, yes?_

"Justice. Yes. But ending it here wouldn't be justice. Not for me, not for the people I've killed."

_And why is that? What __**is**__ justice in your eyes? What do you think you're going to accomplish by surviving here. What do you think you're going to do._

"Gather the Jedi. Stop the Sith." She paused, taking a slow, shaky breath, "I started this. I'm gunna finish it."

"Good choice."

She spun round to the voice. And stopped breathing.

* * *


	5. Chapter 5: Dark Matters

_Fifth and final chapter of The Secret Tomb - __**'Dark Matters'.**__ A familiar face and an old question. When doubt touches her, will Shélla allow herself to be convinced by a long forgotten ally? How could she accept forgiveness from the man that she killed?_

_KotOR © Lucas Arts_

* * *

**Chapter 5 - Dark Matters**

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Atton relaxed. He paused, lowering his shaking hands from his head. Silence. Blessed silence. No screams. No yells. No cries. No blood.

He drew in a slow, deep breath, and staggered to his feet, leaning heavily on the rocky wall. Someone grabbed his shoulder, propping up. He glanced at the hand, and, noticing it to be the Disciple's, reflexively pulled away. Mical looked at him, hesitantly, and then nodded, and moved back. Atton looked at him for a second and then shook his head. He hadn't meant to do that. It was a reflex. If Shélla had been here she'd have killed him.

_Shélla._

His brain clicked into action, and his eyes moved over everyone, "Where is she."

Bao-Dur shook his head, slowly, "Not out yet."

"She on to the next test?"

He nodded, slowly, but didn't speak. His eyes were on the floor.

Atton looked at him for a moment, warily, "What's wrong."

The Zabrak looked up, catching his eyes, "You can't feel it?"

He shook his head, frowning, "Feel what?"

"Something new. But... familiar... like..." he shook his head, firmly, as if trying to rid himself of the thought. But a shadow still remained in his eyes.

"What's wrong." Atton asked, firmly, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"I... I recognise them, but..." he paused for a moment, and then his eyes widened slightly, filling with realisation and fear, "No." He whispered, shaking his head, slowly, "No, it _can't_ be..."

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Shélla couldn't speak. The woman in front of her was standing perfectly still, leaning casually against the doorframe, giving her a soft smile. Her ebony black hair was pulled back behind her head, with a few strands of fringe left tumbling down, contrasting amazingly with her bright blue eyes. She had delicate cheekbones, and her skin was a warmed pink. She let her eyes move over her, slowly. Shélla remembered being somewhat jealous of her colour. She was exquisitely beautiful, but _casually_ so. She was dressed all in black, a dark, armoured chest piece covered by a long black cloak.

The woman stood there, looking at her, her smile tinged with a gentle tease. Then she shook her head, and took a few steps forwards, towards her, "Shélla Roke. Well. It's been... a long time."

Shélla looked at her. Her heart was pumping in her chest. Finally, she opened her mouth and managed to force out one word: "Revan."

Revan smiled again, "That's me. How are you? How have you been? I haven't seen you since..."

"Since Malachor." She completed, softly.

She nodded, slowly, her smile not fading but turning almost sad, "That's the one."

"Why... why are you _here_?" the Exile whispered, shaking her head, feeling unexplainable tears prick up in her eyes.

She gave a slow, casual shrug and smiled again. She was exactly how she remembered her. Forever calm, casual, her blue eyes sparkling with a content serenity she managed to keep even after what she had done. During battle that spark faded. But it always came back, despite everything. Shélla had often wondered whether she forced it. Looking at her now, she wouldn't be surprised if that was true.

Revan cocked her head slightly to one side, watching her, curiously, "You didn't join me after the Mandalorian Wars. You disappeared. What happened?"

"I... I went back to the Jedi Council."

The woman nodded, slowly, as if this was just what she had thought, "And they exiled you."

"Yes."

"For coming back to them. For not fighting. For _returning_ to them."

"Please. Please don't do this, Revan."

She raised an eyebrow, "Do what?"

"You _know_ what." She shook her head, desperation sparking up inside of her, "You _know_, Revan. You _know_ I was _your_ soldier. You _know_ I would've done... _any_thing. I _did_ do anything."

"So what changed?"

"I couldn't do it. Not after what happened. I think... I still think... a part of me died back on Malachor. I thought I'd never pick up a lightsaber again."

She nodded to her holster, "But, apparently, you _did_."

"Yeah. 'Cause of Bao-Dur."

Her face lit at his name, "Bao-Dur? The Zabrak technician. Small galaxy."

"_Big_ galaxy. It was the Force that led us to each other."

She nodded, "Of course." She paused for a moment, watching her, and then shook her head, slowly, "Why _didn't_ you join me after Malachor. I wanted you there, you know. I wanted you by my side."

"Really?" she asked, catching her eyes, "Did you _really_? It's no secret what you were doing at Malachor, Revan. You were thinning the ranks, killing off the people who weren't loyal to you. I believe the phrase is called 'cleaning house'."

Revan paused watching her, and then nodded, slowly, "So I had my doubts. And they were _doubts_, Shélla, but very slight. You have no idea how long I deliberated over sending you to Malachor. But you pulled through. You met my expectations. You went _further_ than my expectations. You _survived_."

"You're not... you're not even gunna _deny_ it?" she shook her head, and Shélla felt anger spark inside her, "You sent me there to die. That was the reason. You sent me there to die. But, worse than that, you... you tricked me into killing the only people that could have _stopped_ you."

"It had to be done." The slightest amount of strain had entered her voice. The spark in her eyes was fading.

"_Did_ it? I left for the Outer Rim after the Wars but when I came back... What had you _become_? You destroyed _planets_! Iridonia, Telos, Rodia, Taris, _Dantooine_! You destroyed _Dantooine_! How _could_ you, after all that planet had done for us, after all it _was_ to us! It was all I had!"

"_Alek_ destroyed Dantooine, not me." She replied, her voice now noticeably cold, "I would _never_ have done that, that wasn't by intention."

"Really? Then what _was_ your intention. You _betrayed_ us, Revan! You betrayed the Jedi, the Republic, you betrayed _me_!"

"_You_ betrayed the Jedi the second you followed me to war."

"Yes! And then I went back to them! To face punishment!"

"There are darker forces at play here than you realised, Shélla. You have to trust me that I know what I'm doing. That I _knew_ what I was doing."

"_What_ darker forces? There's _nothing_!"

"Did you ever wonder why I too left for the Outer Rim, Shélla? Did you never ask?" she paused, looking at her, and then shook her head, "I did a lot as Darth Revan, Shélla. I killed a lot. I conquered, destroyed, forced the Republic to surrender. And I let people keep their belief that I had turned to the Dark Side. In fact I did quite a lot to _strengthen_ that belief."

"You... you _hadn't_?" her voice shook.

She looked at her, letting her form her own decision. Then she held out a hand. "Come with me. Come see what I found. Leave this place and come help me fight against the worst the galaxy has to offer."

Shélla looked at her hand. Then back to her eyes, "Did you think of those you'd killed? Of the cost? The cost to keep whatever these things are at bay?"

"Yes." She replied, immediately, gently, "Every day."

"Was it worth it?"

Revan looked at her, giving a small, sad smile, "Yes. I wouldn't make one different move. This threat is worth the cost."

Shélla nodded, slowly. There was a long pause. Then she shook her head, slowly, "No."

She raised an eyebrow, "You deny me again. Alright. This time, however... would you give me your reasons?"

She looked into those bright blue eyes.

We'll be here. I'll wait for you.

The voice echoed through both of their heads. Revan raised an eyebrow again, "Atton? That's his name?"

She nodded, slowly, her eyes on her as if asking for some sort of _approval_. She said nothing, and Shélla tried again, melding their minds together, pushing out more memories.

So, uh, how long have you been a Jedi? Must be tough, you know... no family, no _husband_...

You're _crazy_! Even for a Jedi!

Just... be careful down there.

She let her mind move over them, allowing Revan's to follow, flickering through the whole of their time together, what they had done, all they had accomplished.

You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this.

You'll stay with me, won't you, sugar? You'll come with _me_, won't you?

I love you. You know that, don't you? I _love_ you, sugar.

Then it changed. Revan was leading them now, moving into deeper parts of her head, letting out memories she had long locked away.

You've got plenty of lives to answer for - _all_ you Jedi do! How did you even _live_ with yourself after Malachor?

So you got off easy - you were exiled, brushed under the cargo ramp, another dirty little Jedi secret.

I'll tell you, all those Jedi at Malachor? They deserved it. _Every last __**one**_ of them.

Shélla tensed, trying to push the memories back. But Revan was too strong. She forced them back on track, delving deeper, raising an eyebrow as she found more and more, "_This_ is your man, Shélla?"

When fighting a Jedi, you wound the Padawan first, then let the rest take care of itself. Not only will the master move to protect the student, but the Force Bond between the two will mess up the master's head better than _any stab_ wound.

"Stop it." Shélla managed, pushing back against her, trying to force her out.

"I'm sorry, Shélla. It's for your own good."

I didn't fight Jedi - I _killed_ them. A _lot_ of them.

I don't know why I'm wasting my time with you _anyway_**.**

She lashed out, but Revan caught her hand, twisting it, forcing it down so she couldn't do it again, pushing her back against the wall.

"Still so sure about his loyalties?"

People say that killing Jedi is hard. It's not - you just have to be _smart_ about it. There's ways of gassing them, drugging them, making them lose control, _torturing_ them... I was _really_ good at it.

"Still trust him with your life?"

"Revan. Please."

Killing them wasn't the best thing. Making them _fall_… making them see our side of it... _that _was the best.

"Revan."

I love you. You know that, don't you? I _love_ you, sugar.

She held onto the words, firmly, allowing them to fill her mind.

You know that, don't you? I _love_ you, sugar.

We'll be here. I'll wait for you.

I'll wait for you.

_When fighting a Jedi, you wound the Padawan first, then let -_

I love you. You know that, don't you?

_Not only will the master move to protect the student, but the Force Bond -_

I'll wait for you.

_- better than __**any stab**__ wound._

I _love_ you, sugar.

* * *

Shélla opened her eyes and threw out a hand, causing Revan to stumble backwards, a lessened effect than what she had expected, but still the desired one. She shook her head, banishing the remnants of Atton's cold, calculating voice, allowing his gentle words to sustain her.

I love you. You know that, don't you?

I'll wait for you.

I _love_ you, sugar.

She held out a hand, channelling the Force, feeling it grow inside of her. She pushed out, ferociously, and Revan was thrown away, smashed back against the Sith walls, away from her. Shélla paused, and then let go, her breathing hectic but calming, her heart slowing. She kept her eyes on her Master, her old idol, her _inspiration_.

Revan paused. Then, slowly, she turned her head to face her. She gave a small, soft smile. And then disappeared.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

I love you. You know that, don't you?

I'll wait for you.

I _love_ you, sugar.

Atton felt his insides go cold. That... that was his _voice_. His _thoughts_. Not his _words_, he hadn't _said_ them, but all the same... What new test was _this_? A test for _him_? A test _of_ him? What was going on?

You'll stay with me, won't you, sugar? You'll come with _me_, won't you?

You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this.

I love you. You know that, don't you? I _love_ you, sugar.

The others were looking around them, frowning, just as he was. They had no idea what was going on, what these words meant, where they were coming from.

Bao-Dur, however, was looking directly at him. He had recognised the voice, recognised the words. Atton's heart skipped, expecting some sort of put-down, or maybe _worse_, maybe a stab of jealousy or contempt, or just a mocking, knowing smile. What he got, however, was completely different. The Zabrak paused, and then walked over to him, putting a hand on his shoulder, giving him a small, genuine smile, "Thankyou."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Shélla stood still, watching the spot where Revan had been. She didn't understand. Everything was whirling in her head.

-You've succeeded in this trial. I am impressed-

She spun round, quickly. No. This was no vision. She could feel it. This was real.

She hesitated, and then shook her head, "This... this was another test?"

-Yes. The dangers you faced in this tomb were real, but these images of the past served to prepare you for your future-

"Prepare me for the future..." She paused, then shook her head, "This was one... pretty shitty test, Kreia. How the _fuck_ was this supposed to _'prepare'_ me."

She could sense her mentor's faint disapproval at her lack of delicacy, but she didn't comment -It was meant to be difficult. It was supposed to push you. For what is coming-

"What do _you_ know of the future."

-Surely you have felt what awaits... Events are shaping themselves about you, seeking to draw you into their centre-

"Well they can stay the fuck away." Then she closed her eyes, forcefully calming herself, "I know. I know. And... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to... It's just... this _place_."

-You overestimate the power of the tomb. Any change you feel is coming from within _yourself_. Instinctually, you know your true path-

"True path?" she repeated, sceptically, "Did you... did you see what I _did_?"

-No. And I don't think you should tell me. Because, whatever you did... can you still feel it? Inside? Guilt? Pain at what you've done?-

"Yes."

-There you are, then. Trust in your feelings. They will lead you in conquering the many challenges that the future holds for you-

Shélla paused, and then nodded, slowly, "I'm ready to leave."

-Go forward, then. To the next room. You should be able to unlock a passage that leads outside-

She started walking, forwards, putting her hand on the door and feeling it shoot open. A sarcophagus stood in front of her. Ancient Sith lettering lined its surface, and, after brushing off the dust, the lettering took shape.

_Jen'ari __Lud Kressh,__ jiaasjen. __Zhol kash dinora - forca tar'ak._

Dark Lord Ludo Kressh, now integrating with shadow. It is done - through the force he is free.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Atton paced the floor. She still hadn't come out. Agitation flew off him in waves, and, despite all he tried, he couldn't keep it down.

_Hit. Totals fifteen-eight. Hit - plus two. Opponent plus three. Totals seventeen-eleven._

_Switch the face of the plus two/minus two card, the totals are nineteen-five. Stand._

_Opponent hits - plus four. Plus one. Plus three. Totals are nineteen-eighteen._

_Opponent uses Plus-2 card. Totals are nineteen-twenty. Opponent wins._

Dammit. Didn't see that coming. Seemed even his _subconscious_ was out to get him.

Screw it. Best two out of three.

_Hit. Hit. Hit. Hit. Totals are six-thirteen. Hit - plus seven. Opponent plus two. Hit - plus ten. Totals are twenty three - fifteen. Bust. Dammit._

_Play the 2&4 flip card. Totals are twenty __**one**__ - fifteen._

_Dammit_! No choice but to stand. End of round. End of game.

* * *

Atton turned and cursed violently under his breath. He could sense the surprised, confused gazes of the others on his back, but he paid no notice to them. He was fighting a losing battle against his mind, and his mind wasn't a gracious winner. He bit down hard on his lip, tearing, reopening the barely healed wound, relishing the coppery taste of blood. The slight pain echoed through him, enough to keep him out of his head for a little while.

I love you. You know that, don't you? I _love_ you, sugar.

So direct. So to the point. That wasn't him. Wasn't him at all. He hid behind lust, need - a vague, casual desire. He didn't ask himself how he really felt. He was a coward. He wanted her, yes, he'd wanted her from the second he first saw her. He felt a deep, gnawing desire deep in his stomach almost every time he saw her, and his thoughts quite often lingered on the way she was on Peragus, when she approached him in his cell, the way she spoke, vulnerable but refusing to let him know it, uneasy but crushing the feeling down, keeping it hidden away from him in the back of her mind.

God, so beautiful.

A strong pulse of lust throbbed inside of him, heavy and deep in his chest. He immediately pushed it away. If Mandalore felt it he would have dismissed it with an amused, knowing look. He _probably_ felt the _same_. But if the _others_ felt it... he was sure they wouldn't be so accepting.

"Atton?"

He stopped his pacing, immediately, his heart missing a beat, "What."

The Zabrak nodded ahead of him, silently. Atton frowned, and then followed the gesture. He froze.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Shélla threw her hands around Atton's neck, dragging him down to her, nearly pulling him to the ground. She pulled him close, ignoring his weak, muffled protests, hauling his head down to hers, letting her hands slide almost roughly through his gorgeous hair.

"Whoa _whoa_!" he managed, putting a hand on her shoulder, breaking away a little, "Give me some space to breathe! What the hell's got into _you_, sugar?"

She shook her head, the sweet little pet name making her pull him back down again, not caring about her too tight grip on his shoulders, not caring about the others staring at her in shock. She broke away after a moment, turning, taking Mical by both shoulders, looking deep into his eyes, searchingly. Then just as quickly she held out a hand to Bao-Dur, pressing it into his cheek, just wanting the touch, from _all_ of them, just wanting to know they were there, they were real. She reached out a hand to Mandalore, stopping before touching him, even in her somewhat hysterical state knowing what his reaction would be if she hugged him.

Atton put a hand on her shoulder and she immediately put a hand over it, tightening his grip slightly so she could feel it through her armour.

He glanced down at it, raising an eyebrow, and then looked back up at her again, "Shélla... is everything okay?"

She could see he was confused, concerned, and a little bit wary. She shook her head, slowly, looking at him.

"I am not going back in that hell hole ever again." She managed, finally, her first words, "Hear me? _Ever again_."

His unease melted away and he shook his head, pulling her back towards him. She welcomed the touch, allowing him to hold her despite how weak it must have made her appear, how vulnerable.

"What _happened_." Mical pressed, putting a hand on her arm.

She pulled back from Atton a little, twisting so she could see him, "I... Oh... a _test_, apparently. A _series_ of tests. With these, like... _visions_."

"Memories?" he asked, quickly.

She frowned, "Yeah. How did you..."

"We felt it." Atton said, quietly, "We felt Malachor. Dxun. And then... well, _Force_ knows what you were doing after that, 'cause we had one hell of a earful."

"Of what?"

"You goddamned _screaming_. _Calling_ us. Just our names, again and again and again."

She felt something click in her chest. She looked round at them, quickly. True, they looked quite white, pallid, dark rings circling their eyes. Mandalore's face she couldn't see, but the way he was leaning back on that wall looked anything _but_ casual, no matter what he was trying to show. Of course. He hadn't felt the Force before, not _truly_. It would've been ten times as worse for him. The fact that he was even _standing_ now was amazing.

"Atton had it the longest." Mical said, shaking his head, "Said he felt like his _heart_ was breaking."

Shélla moved her eyes up to his, concerned. The spacer was looking vaguely embarrassed, shaking his head as if to say it had been nothing. It hadn't. If he had been feeling what _she_ had felt... it hadn't.

She pushed her forehead into his chest, shaking her head, "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

She felt him tense, somewhat awkwardly, hand on her back, "Hey hey, apology accepted. Come on sugar, up you get."

She didn't want to. He had unzipped his armoured top slightly to just above his chest; a habit she herself had warned him many times would get him killed. She let her forehead lean on his bare skin, relishing the slight heat after the interminable chill of the tomb, feeling the zip catch slightly on her lip.

A shiver went through him, and she immediately flinched back, her eyes flicking up to his, frowning slightly. She checked his expression, quickly. There was something there she couldn't quite read. Disgust? No. Thank _God_ no. So what was it? She paused for a moment, and then shook her head, dismissing it, and turned back to the others, untangling herself from his hands, "Come on. Let's get out of here. That place can sit and rot in silence for the rest of eternity for all I care."

"Was it worth it?" Bao said, slowly, "Did you find what you were looking for?"

"Well, that depends on what I was supposed to _find_." She replied, scathingly, her voice mocking her earlier 'wisdom' on Telos, fully aware that Kreia might be listening but not able to bring herself to care. She sighed and shook her head, "I wanna get out of here. I want... I want..."

"What." He asked, gently.

She paused for a moment, thinking, "I wanna... get back to the ship. Take a _scalding_ shower. And then... have a _huge_ hit of juma."

Atton laughed, turning around with her to walk back through the caves, "Y'know what, I might just join you with that."

"What, the drink or the shower?"

He leant down to her ear, his breath tickling her neck, "Which would you _prefer_?"

She felt an uncharacteristic flush of blood go to her face, making her cheeks turn pink.

He laughed, shaking his head, sliding an arm around her back, "Oh, _sugar_, that's a _definite_ 'both'. Might need the drink _first_, though, hey?"

She brushed his hand off her, quickly, now blushing quite violently. He smiled, mischievously, and she could tell the thought that he'd managed to fluster her pleased him. She shook her head, quickly, "Come on. Let's get the hell out of here."

* * *

Back at the ship, Shélla stood of the gangway, glancing over the sand. She couldn't help but feel a stab of vicious satisfaction at the lack of movement. It was _right_ that this place should be abandoned. It was too dangerous to be habited. Best these Sith legacies stayed forgotten.

_Zhol kash dinora - forca tar'ak._

It is done - through the force he is free.

She shook her head, slowly, and then looked at the people around her. She gave a small smile, "I never said. Thankyou all for being there. For waiting for me."

The men nodded, slowly. She moved over, pulling Bao into a hug and then planting a kiss on Mical's cheek. She turned to Mandalore and gave a small, wry smile as he took a reflexive half-step back, "Don't you worry, Mandalorian. I'm not suicidal _yet_." She gestured to the ship with a jerk of her head, "Go on, all of you, get on. I just need a minute, then we'll be on our way."

Doing as she said, they walked into the ship.

Shélla paused for a moment. She just needed a few seconds to centre herself. She took the step off the gangway, allowing her feet to go back on the baked hard sand. She shifted her weight, feeling the soft crunches as the sand moved onto her shoes. She looked down. Then back up again. The sun was behind her now, so she could look across Korriban's plains without difficulty. Her eyes flickered over the ruins, the tombs, the remains of the archaeological work they had started.

She pulled at the zip on her armour, subconsciously. The Mandalorian stuff was heavy, and just because the sun was behind her didn't mean this planet was any less hot. Making her mind up, she pulled the top off, dumping it on the gangway. She paused, and then settled herself down on the floor, crossing her legs and closing her eyes. The thought of Darth Sion - or _sleeps-with-vibroblades _as Atton had called him - was still fresh in her mind. She'd have to do whatever she was here to do quick.

She stayed still, slowing her breathing. Shyrack Cave had been a milestone for her. As much as she hated the... _experience_... she couldn't deny _that_, at _least_. She needed to meditate. But not on the ship. Not with them. She let her mind flitter out, brush across others, move past them, onto the next, then back, drawing herself back, to the sand, Korriban. She felt the fear, the emotions in this planet that clutched at her throat, but this time she looked at them critically, trying to see them for what they were.

"Busy?"

* * *

Shélla started, snapping her head round, her heart pounding. Atton stood on the gangway, half in and half out, back in his patent jacket, raising an eyebrow at her. She let go of a long breath and shook her head, "I was... I was just..."

"Meditating. Yeah, I noticed." He walked over and sat down in front of her, his eyes moving over her, silently.

She gave a small frown, "What."

He paused for a moment, oddly serious, and then shook his head, smiling, slightly frustrated, "We've both got something we need to say to the other, but we're both too gutless. Right? So I think what would should do is just... get it out into the open. Yeah?" He shot her a knowing smile, "D'you want me to start?"

She looked at him for a second, and then nodded. Force, was this it? Was he going to say...?

"Right. Okay. So. When you were... when you were in the tomb... I heard you... scream my name. And don't get me _wrong_, usually that would be quite the accomplishment, but... this time... it, uh... it cut straight through me."

"I'm sorry."

"No, _don't_ be. It's just... you just kept... _calling_ me, and I _felt_ everything _you_ felt, and it was... it was... _horrifying_. It was _terrible_. And I just thought... how can she feel that and stay sane."

She gave a small, nervous laugh, "Well. Who says I _did_?"

He smiled back, "Well, there's always that, I suppose. But... whenever I look at you..." he shook his head, impatiently, "I heard those words, Shélla. In my voice, but not my words." He gave a small, strange smile, "Only _I_ call you sugar. Got it? _My_ word." He drew in another breath, "But I just... You see... When you were in that tomb... I can't just... I..."

Shélla shook her head, feeling his awkwardness, "You don't have to." She said, gently, reaching out a hand to his shoulder, "I mean, I know what you felt. When I was in the tomb. You don't have to."

He seemed distinctly relieved: "Yeah, well... let's just say... I'm gunna be there for you. Okay? I'm gunna be here. You're not getting shot of me." He drew in a long, stabilising breath, "Because I -"

"Don't say it." She said, quickly, cutting over him.

"I _want_ to." He assured, probably thinking she thought he wouldn't mean it, thinking she meant he should wait until he was _sure_.

"Well I don't." she replied, shakily.

He frowned, "Don't _what_?"

"I don't _want_ you to say it."

"_What_?"

"I don't _want_ you to _say_ it."

He shook his head, confused, "_Why_?"

"Because..." she trailed off, and then shook her head, firmly, "Because I killed you."

* * *

There was a long pause. Atton raised an eyebrow, "Uh... I'm pretty sure you didn't."

Shélla sighed, frustrated, "Not _you_ you. I killed _other_ you."

"What d'ya mean?"

She hesitated, and then shook her head, "The visions. In the tomb. They showed me you and the others. They tried... tried to get me to choose. Between... stupid little groups. I said I wouldn't and you all... you all kind of... tried to kill me." She gave a small smile, nothing emotional in it, "You have no idea how weird it was to see Mical's eyes full of hate. Or Bao-Dur's. Mira I... guess I'm somewhat used to."

He looked at her for a moment, "And me?" he asked, slowly.

She gave the strange smile again, "No. But you..."

_Prepare yourself, sugar._

"You... struck out at me. I told you I couldn't kill you."

_We'll just see about that._

"That I wouldn't do it."

_Then you will fall._

"And then..." her voice broke a little and she closed her eyes for a second, forcing herself to calm, "And then... I didn't mean to, I just... pushed out."

He was looking at her, silently, his face completely expressionless.

She shook her head, "I didn't mean to. But... I did. And then..." her voice turned a little darker: "And then _Kreia_ put her hand on my shoulder, and I just... I couldn't stop myself." She looked at him, her eyes almost cold, empty, "I killed her. In anger. I killed her because I thought she'd made me kill you. But that was just one more victory for her, 'cause when she was dead... I realised what I'd done." She turned slightly, her tongue tracing one of her top teeth, her eyes on the horizon, "I stuck out in anger. I _killed_ in anger. I've never done that before. Even during the Wars. It was _defence_, not... not _base passion_." She paused for a moment, and then moved her eyes back to his, "And that's why you can't say it. Because... because I'm not worth it, and all you're doing here... is shortening your life span."

Atton paused for a moment, looking at her. Then he nodded, thoughtfully, "Yeah. That sounds right. 'Cause I couldn't _possibly_ be here because I _want_ to, right?"

"Atton -"

"No. Listen to me." He paused, then gave a small, wry smile, "Kill me as much as you like, you're not getting rid of me _that_ easy."

She gave a low, weary sigh, "Atton..."

"No." He moved closer to her, pulling her down so her head rested on his shoulder. He moved his lips down to her ear, "I'm gunna stay with you 'til the end, Shélla. I'm not gunna leave you."

"I'm sorry." She managed, closing her eyes.

He sounded amused: "For killing me? Nah, don't worry, sugar, plenty have tried it before, I don't blame you." Then he pulled back slightly and got to his feet, brushing sand off his jacket and then holding out a hand, "Come on. Let's get outta here."

She took his hand and allowed him to pull her to her feet. He put his hand on her waist as if to stabilize her and then shook his head, clicking his fingers, "Oh. Wait. I forgot something."

"What."

Before she had time to react, Atton had pushed her back against the cold ship hull and was kissing her. She was so startled that for a moment she just stood there, eyes wide, one hand still placed on his elbow. She tried to move a little, tried to get forwards, but he pushed her back again, cornering her, hands moving to the back of her head, pulling her closer. She managed to break away for a breath and then he pulled him straight back again, so close, his lips hard on her astounded mouth.

The surprise faded and her eyes fluttered shut of their own accord. She let her hand move up from his elbow to the back of his neck, pushing her hand into his hair, ruffling it. He bent down a little and picked her up, forcing her backwards a bit onto the ship's wing, getting her level with him, pressing her backwards just as much as he was pulling her back towards him.

It was the first time he had ever kissed her, had ever shown anything more than casual flirting, passing lust. But by the way his mouth hungrily claimed hers, the way his hands pawed at her top, trying to get under it, it didn't seem like passing lust to her, more like very _constant_ lust. He was the first man she had kissed in months, maybe even a _year_, and the first man she'd _ever_ kissed like _this_. It had been against the Code. _There is no passion, there is serenity_. Plus there wasn't exactly ample choice of men in the Jedi Academy.

Atton bit down hard on her lip and she flinched back, letting out a low, slightly stifled murmur, which only caused him to press harder against her lips.

It seemed like forever by the time his passions started to slow, his kisses coming deeper but softer, long kisses lingering on her bottom lip and with the tiniest touch of tongue. When he pulled away her lip went with his.

He drew back further, looking at her face to see her reaction. Shélla just looked at him, a frown only just touching her features, her mouth slightly open as she tried to catch her breath.

Atton paused for a moment, watching her, then his smooth grin slid back into place. He reached up a hand, helping her down from the ship wing, catching her by the waist. His smile broadened, and he drew her closer, his eyes flickering down to see their proximity. Then his eyes moved back up to hers, and he smiled, playfully, giving her a gentle chuck on the chin, "_Now_, sugar. I believe you owe me a shower."

* * *


End file.
